Revelation: a complex and intricate world of heavenly beings and exotic creatures

When we come to the end of the New Testament, we find that the final book bears the name of the apostle John. We know it as the book of the Revelation of John. This book, however, is dramatically different from the Gospel that also bears John’s name. It has its own utterly distinctive character and style.

This book has some indications that it is to be understood as a letter. The opening section (1:1–20) includes an explicit identification of the author (1:4) and the location of his writing (1:9); a brief description of the situation of the recipients (1:9) along with a listing of the specific cities in which they lived (1:11); and a short blessing and doxology (1:4–5).

The book also contains the text of seven short letters, to the churches in these seven cities (2:1–3:22). The closing section (22:8–21) reiterates the role of the author (22:8) and concludes with a blessing formula (22:21). Each of these elements reflects traditional letter-writing style.

The author identifies himself as John (1:4, 9; 22:8) and notes that he was living on the island of Patmos (1:9); church tradition has equated him with John, the disciple of Jesus, as well as the author of the fourth Gospel and three letters. However, this book is strikingly different from the Gospel and the three letters.

Some have argued that the tone of the book might reflect the style of one of “the Sons of Thunder”, as the disciple John was labelled (Mark 3:17); but such a generalisation is not grounded in specific evidence.

Both the style of Greek employed and the way that biblical imagery is deployed sets this book apart from the Gospel which bears John’s name; whilst that book is steeped in biblical imagery and language, it is done in a more subtle and sophisticated manner.

The issues addressed in each of the letters which are attributed to John are internal church matters, quite different from the broader view of society which is in view in Revelation. These letters require separate consideration from the dramatic scenes which follow.

The recipients of the book, identified generically as “the seven churches that are in Asia” (1:4), are then named one by one, by city (1:11).  In the details of the seven letters which are addressed specifically to these seven churches (2:1–3:22), we might imagine that we will find insight into the specific situation in these churches, which is being addressed in this book.

Yet, a careful reading of these particular letters indicates that they are written and delivered in response to a dramatic vision of a distinguished figure with an ominous presence, who instructs the author to write the letters to the angels of the various churches (1:9–20).

Furthermore, the content of a number of these letters introduces additional elements which are striking and unusual—seven stars held in a man’s hand, seven spirits of God, seven golden lampstands, white robes and a white stone, immoral behaviours and strange teachings which exhibit Satanic influences.

As we read on, we discover that this turns out to be just a little “sampler” of the far more complex and intricate world of heavenly beings and exotic creatures, who populate a series of increasingly bizarre and disturbing visions throughout the rest of the book. The whole book is much more than a letter, or a series of letters.

The opening and closing chapters give a number of clues in this regard. The work is characterised as being words of prophecy (1:3; 22:10, 18–19). The prophecy which is presented in this book is summarised as what must soon take place (1:1; 22:6). Both at the beginning and at the end of the book, the author declares that he is looking forward in time, reporting events that will soon occur.

However, this is not simply John’s view of what is to happen; what he writes, he maintains, has first been made known to him by an angel (1:1; 22:6, 8). So, the visions reported in chapters 4–21 are encircled by strong assertions of their significance and import.

As the book ends (22:6–21), a series of statements and affirmations reinforce the importance of what has been revealed in these visions.

First, the author repeats the explicit claim that this was shown to him by an angel (22:8–9). The instruction he is given, to make this known (“do not seal up the words”, 22:10), ensures that the message will become public—the author must write letters and report visions to those who will listen.

Then the author intensifies the moment by reporting the direct words of Jesus: “It is I, Jesus, who sent my angel to you” (22:16); the message has a clear heavenly origin.

Next comes a dire warning not to tamper with the words as revealed by these means (22:18–19); the style is that of a solemn oath. The work closes with a prayer which looks to the way of Jesus in the future, “Come, Lord Jesus” (22:20), and a final formulaic benediction of grace (22:11, evoking the opening blessing of 1:4).

Ways of interpreting this book

The book of Revelation has probably become the most misunderstood book of the New Testament—because of the enigmatic nature, and the dramatic power, of these visionary sections. There are numerous theories seeking to ‘explain’ the meaning of the visions and to ‘prove’ the identity of the various figures who appear in these visions.

There are many approaches that have been taken to explain the vivid imagery which depicts the future judgement of humanity, which has led to this also being one of the most misused books of the New Testament. It has been interpreted by groups of fervent believers throughout the centuries as evidence that the end of the world was at hand.

How, then, do we seek to “understand” this book? When ever we turn to scripture, are we looking for clear doctrinal statements? In which case, this book could be mined as a source for teachings about “the last days”.

Or do we hope to encounter stories which help us to understand what has transpired in history? In which case, we will look for evidence that pins down the content of this book and grounds it in real-life events.

Both approaches require us to develop an extensive system of interpretation for reading this book. This is not a simple or straightforward task.

An alternative (and often employed) way of reading this book is to consider that it is prophecy which provides a set of predictions about the future. Sometimes this is seen to relate to the times immediately in the future of the writer, in the late 1st century. Other interpreters claim that the book is pointing forward in time, to events that will take place beyond the time of the reader, in our own times (that is, the 21st century). 

Some people will want to read the book simply as literature in its own right; as a work of art, it has the power to generate ideas and responses without necessarily tying these down to what is “true” or “accurate”. Ideological critics might wish to engage in dialogue with the book in relation to the violence which runs throughout the visions. 

Some readers have considered this book to be an expression of patriarchal power, caught up in the masculine enterprise of solving disputes through coercion and violence. Others have undertaken a search for an alternative vision of peacemaking in the midst of human warfare, as the lamb who was slaughtered is the one who ultimately triumphs.

How do you come to this book? What is the lens, the perspective, that you employ, to read this dramatic and different book?

Whatever the way is that we seek to approach our reading of this book, it will influence the kind of understanding that results. Because the work does not lay down one simple narrative line; because it is so rich and intricate in its symbolism; because it places layer upon layer, image upon image, it will produce multiple readings with multiple appreciations. Such is the complex nature of interpreting biblical texts.

Reflections on a significant anniversary

On this day forty years ago (3 December 1980), I was ordained to the Ministry of the Word in the Uniting Church, in my home church in Seaforth. Forty years!!!

As I reflect on that day and the intervening decades, I am grateful for the early testimony, encouragement, and challenging I received from Phyl Spencer and her various Sunday School teachers at Seaforth over the previous two decades; from Len Cliff, my minister as I candidated and then my field education supervisor for a year in prison chaplaincy; from the late Milton Coleman, who asked me the provocative questions as I candidated and later became a valued Faculty colleague; and from the late Graham Hughes, teacher, thesis examiner, colleague, and friend over the years.

In my reflections, also, I am struck by the developments and changes that have occurred since that time. No females and only one lay person in the group appointed for the laying on of hands (even though one of my major final-year essays was on feminist theology!). A lack of inclusive language in the ordination vows. These matters have been clearly rectified in the liturgy now used at ordinations. Yet being an inclusive church, living that out in actual reality, continues to be a challenge even into the 21st century.

Those questions to which I answered affirmatively in 1980 had no requirement to be “guided by the Basis of Union” or “submit to the discipline of the church” (two important additions to the vows in later years—which I happily affirm). There was no reference to the First Peoples of Australia (it would take decades for that perspective to be accepted).

These and so many other changes that have taken place over the decades that I have served in ministry, learnt so much from fellow disciples, and experienced a variety of ministry opportunities in urban, rural, and regional roles: in six Congregations (Southern Illawarra, Waverley, Wauchope, and Queanbeyan, as well as Woodbury Methodist and Mount Carmel Congregational in the USA), two Presbyteries (Mid North Coast and Canberra Region), and two theological colleges (United Theological College in Sydney, and Perth Theological Hall in Western Australia).

Each of these placements has given me the opportunity to serve with people of deep faith, alongside colleagues with all manner of gifts and skills; to share in significant life moments with many parishioners; to work with people preparing for a lifetime of ministry in the church and in the community, expanding their biblical understanding, sharpening their pastoral and missional skills, and deepening their faith through the process of questioning and exploring; and to step out in new paths of ministry in activism, fostering care for the environment, working with indigenous peoples, and advocating for environmental responsibility.

And throughout these decades of ministry, I have had wonderful opportunities for deepening theological and biblical understandings with intensive study (at Yale, in the USA) and then further study leave periods (at Durham, and at Cambridge, in the UK). More recently, in my fourth decade of ministry, I have undertaken training in Resource Ministry, Transitional Ministry, Mission Shaped Ministry, and Supervision, exploring new ways to engage in ministry and mission.

And, of course, I have immense gratitude for the deep love and friendship, as well as collegial working, learning, and challenging, with my wife Elizabeth Raine over the past three decades, throughout many of those experiences, as we have been together in a whole range of opportunities for ministry and mission.

What do we know about who wrote the letters in the name of the apostles? (4)

Alongside the thirteen letters attributed to Paul, there are another eight documents which are included in the New Testament which are, by tradition, identified as letters. Seven of them are attributed to other apostles: three to John, two to Peter, and one each to James and Jude. One further document is anonymous, in that it is identified by its recipients (to the Hebrews) rather than its purported author.

These eight documents are of varying lengths, addressed to a range of people in a variety of locations. They contain injunctions, exhortations, and commands about how to live in accordance with the way of Jesus.

They reflect the varying realities of some small, growing communities of followers of Jesus in the eastern Mediterranean region. These communities developed within the fertile fields of Second Temple Judaism. Their members were seeking to live out their faith under the realities of the Roman imperial power. Ultimately each of them contributed to the formation of what came to be known as the Christian Church.

In each case, the book is presented as a letter—although the character of some of these books suggests that they may not originally have been written as a letter.

These books provide us with insights into the variety of ways that the early church presented the good news and gave instructions about following the way of Jesus. Each in their own way points to the continuing presence of Jewish believers beyond the initial years of the Jesus movement.

Letters in the Name of John

The author of 1 John is never named, but the opening verse makes the claim that the letter comes from one who has “heard…seen…looked at and touched” for himself, the very “word of life” (1:1). The inference is that the author has had personal contact with Jesus himself; in the third century, Irenaeus made the definitive claim that the letter was written by “John, the disciple of the Lord” (Against Heresies 3.16.5).

This claim goes beyond any direct assertion within the letter itself; although such a claim might be reinforced by the author’s reiteration of his privileged status as eyewitness (and earwitness): “we have seen it” (1:2), “what we have seen and heard” (1:3), “the message we have heard from him” (1:5), as well as a later reminder: “just as he has commanded us” (3:23).

Both 1 John and the Gospel of John state that they were “written … [concerning] “eternal life”, which was granted to people who “believe” in Jesus as “the Son of God”. The similarities suggest either common authorship, or an intentional allusion to the Gospel by the author of the letter. The differences in style and theology between the two works are subtle, but they do reinforce the latter option as preferable.

One clear difference to be noted is that, whilst the Gospel makes frequent references to Hebrew Scripture (both in quotations and by allusion), the letter betrays little awareness of these scriptures, other than what had already been mediated through the Gospel. The strong Jewish context of the Gospel is not evident in this letter.

The identity of the author of 2 John, and the recipients of this letter, has occasioned debate; in neither case is the letter unambiguous in what it says. The “elect lady and her children” (1) could be specific historical individuals, but are usually interpreted in a symbolic fashion, referring to a community of believers with their patroness. A later comment supports this interpretation, with a reference to “the house” (10) suggesting a community of believers meeting in a house. (Evidence for this practice is to be found in Acts and Paul’s letters.)

“The elder”, likewise, is anonymous; similarities in vocabulary and theology point to connections with the author of the first letter of John, and to the author of the Gospel (as noted below). A link with the apostle John depends on decisions made about the authorship of these documents.

A comment in the first church history, written in the early fourth century by Eusebius, provides a problem for this last claim. Eusebius refers to the second century leader, Papias, and notes that he apparently differentiates between John, one of “the disciples of the Lord”, and “the elder John” (Ecclesiastical History 3.39.3–4). Nothing in this letter itself supports a claim for apostolic authorship.

In 3 John, we might readily assume that “the elder” (1) is the same person as the author of 2 John; at a very basic level, there is strong similarity of terminology in phrases used, such as “whom I love in truth” (1), “I was overjoyed” (3), the reference to writing “with pen and ink” (13), and the final greeting (15a).

More significantly, key theological features of the Johannine Gospel and the other two letters of John are evident in this letter: a commitment to truth (1, 3, 4, 12) and a valuing of love (6). There is also a sense that the local community is part of a wider movement, in the exhortation to act “faithfully” towards fellow believers, even if they are not personally known by the recipients of this letter. (The Greek term of verse 5, adelphos, literally means “brother”; NRSV “friends” rightfully gives it an inclusive sense).

A Letter in the Name of James

The description of the author of this treatise is short and to the point: “James, a servant of God and of the Lord Jesus Christ”(1:1). James was a well-known figure; he is named amongst the brothers of Jesus (Mark 6:3; Matt 13:55; Gal 1:19) and seems to have been the leader of the church in Jerusalem (Acts 12:17; 15:20; 21:20).

Was the treatise written before James was put to death in 62CE? (Josephus reports his death in book 20 of his Jewish Antiquities—not to be confused with James, the son of Zebedee, whose death in the year 44CE is noted at Acts 12:2.) The knowledge of Jewish scripture and traditions shown in this work, as well as its extensive set of allusions to the teachings of Jesus, support the possibility that James himself wrote it—or, more likely, preached it, with someone else writing it down. There are many features to support the view that it originated within the early Palestinian (even Jerusalem) part of the Jesus movement.

The refined style and extensive Greek vocabulary employed throughout suggest it may have been written by one schooled in Greek rhetoric and literature—and thus, unlikely to have been a Jewish peasant. So, the book might have been written in the form we have it after the death of James, perhaps as statement of his authority and teaching within the Jerusalem church, in order to encourage other congregations with Jewish members.

One verse describes these congregations as “your synagogues” (2:2). Some scholars have claimed that it must have been written much later, even in the second century, by a person writing in the name of James, as a way of claiming his authority for the teachings proposed in this letter. This view seems less persuasive these days.

James 1:15-18 on papyrus 23, dated around 250 CE

Letters in the Name of Peter

The author of 1 Peter is announced simply as “Peter, an apostle of Jesus Christ” (1:1). This would suggest a letter from a writer with close personal links with Jesus. The substance of the letter sits uneasily with this claim. The letter’s refined style of language, and especially the use of a number of classical Greek words, is rather unexpected for a Galilean fisherman.

There are a number of references to the suffering of Jesus (1:11; 2:4, 21, 24; 3:18; 4:1, 13; 5:1), but no other indication that the author knew anything of the earthly ministry of Jesus. Instead, the letter reflects the Christology of the developing movement, interpreting the death of Jesus in sacrificial terms (1:18–19; 2:24; 3:18) and attesting to him as the one who is risen (1:3; 3:21), a mediator with God (2:5), to be acknowledged as Lord (3:15), now dwelling with God in glory (3:22; 5:10), whose future return is awaited (1:7–8, 13; 4:13; 5:4).

The author claims to have been “a witness of the sufferings of Christ” (5:1)—a curious claim to be made by Peter, if the accounts of his denial and desertion of Jesus, found in the canonical gospels, are to be believed! He also describes himself as an “elder” (5:1), which we would not expect to be a term to be adopted by Peter. The word indicates the author’s leadership role within the developing community of faith.

The identification of this community as being “in Babylon” (5:13) is frequently interpreted as being code for Rome, drawing on the same tradition found in Revelation 17:1–18:24. The link with Mark (5:13) has been taken as a further indication of Roman origins, as Mark was alleged to have been in Rome with Peter. However, these connections are faint, revealing nothing of substance about the nature or purpose of the letter.

The close of the letter indicates that it has been written “through Silvanus” (5:12), leading some interpreters to suggest that Silvanus, as secretary, placed a more educated and polished mark on the letter as he transcribed the author’s thoughts. But an alternative translation of this verse is possible, by which Silvanus is designated as the one who delivers the letter, rather than being involved in its writing.

Thus, this Silvanus may well be a different person from the Silvanus who is known as a fellow-worker with Paul (2 Cor 1:19; Acts 15:40) and is called the co-author, with Paul, of both letters to Thessalonica. As he was a member of the Pauline group, we would expect more Pauline influence to be evident in 1 Peter if he was involved in its creation.

In fact, the letter shows more similarity to the “pastoral” letters attributed to Paul. Like them, it is more feasible that this letter was written after the death of the apostle, in his name, in order to encourage and guide believers in what appears to have been a time of increased suffering. Jesus is invoked as the guide and example for believers in this situation.

The first verses of 2 Peter follow the pattern of the opening address of a letter: “Simeon Peter…to those who have received faith…grace and peace” (1:1–2). However, nothing else reflects standard letter practice. There are no closing greetings, simply a reference (unique amongst New Testament books) to Paul and “all his letters” and a warning not to be swayed by erroneous interpretations of them (3:15b–17). The work ends abruptly with a truncated benediction (3:18b).

The work presents as a letter, but its true purpose is signalled by a series of revealing phrases in an opening statement. With his death in view, the author asserts, “I intend to keep on reminding you …to refresh your memory…so that you may be able to recall these things” (1:12–15). Rather than a letter, the work is more accurately characterised as a farewell testament, delivered by a teacher to his disciples with his imminent death in view, to ensure that his teaching is remembered after his death.

Farewell testaments can be found in Jewish literature (Gen 47–49; 2 Sam 23; 2 Esdras 14; 2 Baruch 57–86; Testament of Moses; Testament of the Twelve Patriarchs) as well as in the New Testament (John 14–16; Acts 20:17–38; and w there are elements in 2 Timothy).

The content of the teaching preserved in 2 Peter, however, is distant both from the teachings of Jesus (which the historical Peter would have heard) and from the first letter attributed to Peter. Rather than a letter penned by the disciple Peter, this book is a later work, written in the name of Peter in order to gain authority, to encourage believers at the end of the first century to hold fast to their faith.

A Letter in the Name of Jude

The name of the author of Jude, in Greek, is Ioudas. This is the same name as given to the infamous Judas, son of Simon Iscariot, whose crucial key role in the story of Jesus is featured in all four Gospels. English translations usually render this as Jude—probably to differentiate him from Judas Iscariot.

Four other men by this name also appear in the New Testament: a Galilean rebel (Acts 5:37), a disciple of Jesus (Luke 6:16; Acts 1:13; John 14:22), a resident of Damascus (Acts 9:11) and a co-worker of Paul (Acts 15:22, 27, 32).

The opening of the letter emphasises the authority of the writer as one who was close to Jesus: “Jude, a servant of Jesus Christ and brother of James”; he is noted amongst the brothers of Jesus at Mark 6:3 and Matt 13:55.

Could such a person as the brother of James and Jesus have written this work? It has a high quality of Greek syntax and vocabulary, which throws doubt on the claim; and the generalised formulaic and stereotypical language used has led many scholars to date it later in the first century, or even into the second century, by a believer employing the name of Jude to lend authoritative weight to his writing.

A reference to “the words which were previously spoken by the apostles” (17) probably indicates that the apostles were recognised as a distinct group by the time the document was created—suggesting a later rather than earlier date.

A Letter to the Hebrews

The author of Hebrews is most certainly not Paul, as some ancient church writers maintained. Despite claims that the work was written by various individuals mentioned in other New Testament books (Apollos, Priscilla, Silvanus), it is not possible to be absolutely certain about the identity of the author.

The single reference to a known individual, Timothy, in the closing greetings (13:23), does not guarantee that the work came from Paul, an associate of Paul, or even a Pauline circle. The use of a refined Greek style, the intense engagement with Hebrew scripture, and the use of typological interpretation (8:1–7, 13; 10:1, 11–13) together suggest an educated Hellenistic Jew who had come to faith in Jesus as Messiah and was a powerful preacher of the Gospel.

This writer notes that the message of salvation was “declared at first through the Lord, [then] attested by those who heard him” (2:3), thus acknowledging a chain of tradition lying behind the work and indicating that it was probably written towards the end of the first century.

Likewise, the precise identity of the recipients of this letter cannot be known, although some things can be said about them in rather general terms. The reference to “city” (13:14) might suggest an urban context, whilst notes of the good works carried out by the recipients (10:34; 13:16) and a warning to avoid “the love of money” (13:5) might point to a group with a degree of wealth.

The author describes the recipients of this work as being “dull in understanding” (5:11) and needing someone to teach them (5:12). This is the task that is undertaken in this “word of exhortation” (13:22). The document which we label as a letter is more accurately understood as an extended sermon, offering a “word of exhortation”.

The ending of 2 Peter (3:16–18) and the beginning of 1 John (1:1-2:9)
on the same page of Codex Alexandrinus (dated around 400–440 CE)

For previous posts on the authorship of books in the New Testament, see https://johntsquires.com/2020/10/15/what-do-we-know-about-who-wrote-the-new-testament-gospels-1/ 

https://johntsquires.com/2020/10/15/what-do-we-know-about-who-wrote-the-new-testament-gospels-2/

https://johntsquires.com/2020/10/04/what-do-we-know-about-who-wrote-the-letters-attributed-to-paul-3/

Women in the New Testament (2): six problem passages


This post continues the discussion begun in https://johntsquires.com/2020/11/19/women-in-the-new-testament-1-the-positive-practices-of-jesus-and-the-early-church/

There are six passages in the New Testament which traditional (patriarchal) interpreters have considered to be warrant for the view that women hold an inferior, subordinate position in the church and in society.

In many cases, however, the constraints placed upon women in these passages might be said to be due to the particular circumstances in which the letter was written. They do not provide prescriptive commands that apply at all times and in all places to all women.

In what follows below, I offer some very general comments about each passage, and some links to more detailed discussion of the issues involved in interpreting these passages in the contemporary context (many are from the wonderful blog of Marg Mowczko).

1 Corinthians 14:33b-35. The invocations to women to be silent in church most likely form part of an interpolation into the text by a later writer, and were not written by Paul. However, even if this is not the case, the specific context of the letter suggests that there was a need for Paul to reign in the excesses of at least some of the women believers in Corinth.

He exhorts them to keep silent, as he also instructs others – presumably males as well as females – to keep silent at the appropriate times, when they prophesy, or when they speak in tongues, so that worship may be seemly and orderly. The primary concern is not the role accorded by gender, but the proper conduct of worship.

There’s a more detailed discussion at https://margmowczko.com/interpretations-applications-1-cor-14_34-35/

1 Corinthians 11:2-16. Paul informs women that head coverings were compulsory when they gathered in worship. Again, this instruction may relate to the particular situation in Corinth, where certain pagan religions allowed women almost unbridled freedoms and brought them into contempt of “mainstream” Corinthian society.

Perhaps Paul wrote as he did because he did not want Christian women to be dismissed as extremists in this same manner. An interpretation of his words about “headship” which differs from the traditional view, hinges on a linguistic argument that the Greek word may also mean “source”, and the fact that some of the other statements in this passage seem to support the claim of mutuality and equality which Paul elsewhere upholds.

On head coverings in this passage, see https://margmowczko.com/head-coverings-1-corinthians-11/

On the image and glory of God, see https://margmowczko.com/man-woman-image-glory-god-1-corinthians-11-7/

On what “head” means, see https://margmowczko.com/head-kephale-does-not-mean-leader-1-corinthians-11_3/

And there are more links collected at https://margmowczko.com/category/equality-and-gender-issues/1-corinthians-11-2-16/

1 Timothy 2:8-12. This passage further commands to women to keep silent in church may also be interpreted in the light of the specific context which is addressed in the letter. It appears that those addressed in this letter were under threat from a rather disruptive group of “heretics”, including some prominent women.

Grammatical analysis may suggest that the command is not a universal injunction with universal applicability, but a specific command to a particular situation.

The traditional interpretation of the words in 1 Timothy 2:13-15, that salvation comes to women only by childbirth, may also be debated in the light of linguistic and grammatical argumentation. This is not the only way the phrase can be translated.

For detailed discussions, see https://earlychristiantexts.com/what-1-timothy-says-about-women/, https://margmowczko.com/1-timothy-212-in-a-nutshell/, and https://margmowczko.com/a-woman-not-all-women-1-timothy-212/

There are more articles collected at https://margmowczko.com/category/equality-and-gender-issues/1-timothy-212/

Ephesians 5:21-33. The exhortation to wives to submit to their husbands has traditionally been taken in isolation as a principle valid for all times and places. However, the precise form which is employed in this text (the “household table”) was widely known in the ancient world. It was a way of keeping social order by establishing the superior and the inferior in any relationship.

The three “tables” in the household table of 1 Peter:
husbands and wives, parents and children, masters and slaves

What is quite significant in Ephesians 5 is the way that such a traditional form is modified by the writer of this letter. Indeed, the key to interpreting the passage is sounded in 5:21, with the command to practice mutual submission in marriage (and in other relationships). The typical ancient pattern of inferior/superior is transformed by the Gospel, resulting in a radical equality and mutuality in relationship.

See also https://margmowczko.com/pauls-main-point-in-eph-5_22-33/ and https://www.patheos.com/blogs/allsetfree/2018/12/no-ephesians-5-doesnt-argue-in-favor-of-complementarianism/

Similar matters are to be brought to bear in an interpretation of 1 Peter 3:1-7, where the “household code” is used in a particular rhetorical manner (“apologetic”). The teaching of submission in marriage has a specific function related to the overall purpose of this letter, and need not be seen in isolation as a universalised teaching.

On “the weaker vessel”, see https://margmowczko.com/weaker-vessel-gender-justice-1-peter-3_7/

There are more articles on 1 Peter at https://margmowczko.com/category/equality-and-gender-issues/1-peter-31-7/

In these ways, then, long-standing interpretations of these passages can be challenged as patriarchal, and alternative feminist readings can be proposed from within a reform paradigm. The debate is not concluded, but has opened up important issues for further consideration. Responsible biblical interpretation can no longer avoid confronting the inherent biases and presuppositions of past generations of interpreters – and also of present interpreters.

What do we know about who wrote the letters attributed to Paul? (3)

There are thirteen letters in the New Testament which begin by naming Paul as the person (or one of the people) responsible for writing the letter. A fourteenth letter, written “to the Hebrews”, was long considered to have been written by Paul, even though he was nowhere explicitly identified in this letter. The opinion of the overwhelming majority of scholars, for some time now, has been that Hebrews was not written by Paul. What about the other thirteen letters? Did all of those thirteen letters attributed to Paul actually originate with him?

An ancient depiction of Paul.

Authentic Letters from Paul. There are seven letters which virtually all scholars say were written by Paul. But look carefully! The earliest letter, 1 Thessalonians, declares at the start that it was written by Paul, Silvanus, and Timothy (1 Thess 1:1). A latter letter to the Philippians, states that it was written by Paul and Timothy, servants of Christ Jesus (Phil 1:1), and so does the letter to Philemon (Paul, a prisoner of Christ Jesus, and Timothy our brother, Phlm 1:1).

Of the two letters to Corinth, 1 Corinthians is identified as coming from Paul … and our brother Sosthenes (1 Cor 1:1), whilst 2 Corinthians comes from Paul .. and Timothy our brother (2 Cor 1:1). So joint authorship of letters was a common practice.

Only Galatians and Romans actually claim to have been written solely by Paul (“Paul an apostle”, Gal 1:1; “Paul, a servant of Jesus Christ, called to be an apostle, set apart for the gospel of God …”, Rom 1:1). To underline that, the author of Galatians declares near the end, “see what large letters I make when I am writing with my own hand!” (Gal 6:11).

By contrast, in the last chapter of Romans, as Paul is sending his characteristic greetings (from Timothy, Lucius, Jason and Sosipater, Rom 16:21), his words are abruptly interrupted: “I, Tertius, the writer of this letter, greet you in the Lord” (Rom 16:22). Clearly, Paul was using a scribe to write down this lengthy letter, which he most likely was dictating (and, if the state of his Greek sentences are any indicator, at times he was speaking with great rapidity!).

Disputed Letters, written in the name of Paul. Many scholars have come to doubt that all of the thirteen letters were authentic letters of Paul. They have been able to come to this view because of what is known about the widespread practice, in the ancient world, of circulating letters and other documents in the name of an eminent person from an earlier age—a great scholar, or philosopher, or religious leader, or teacher. This was done by a writer who wished to “borrow” the authority of the older figure, believing that this would give greater weight to the views and teachings included in their work.

The suggestion is that members of the church in the later decades of the first century did this, using the name of Paul, because they regarded him as a teacher of note and an apostle of the church. There were already many works like this in Jewish circles, and a number amongst the gentiles also; so this was a well-known practice. And the ancient world did not have the strict laws of copyright and intellectual property which characterise the twenty-first century!

Colossians begins with a claim to be a letter from “Paul, an apostle of Christ Jesus by the will of God, and Timothy our brother, to the saints and faithful brothers and sisters in Christ in Colossae” (Col 1:1-2).

However, it was most likely written by a follower of Paul, writing in his teacher’s name in order to claim his authority as he addressed a situation different from, and some time after, Paul’s own time. Paul’s theological and ethical positions are known by the author. However, the problematic situation addressed, the theological ideas expressed, and the ethical instructions offered, each point to an origin after the lifetime of Paul.

The situation envisaged in Ephesians is quite different from that of Colossians; we know little, if anything, about it. The letter does begin in the expected manner, “Paul, an apostle of Christ Jesus by the will of God, to the saints who are in Ephesus and are faithful in Christ Jesus” (Eph 1:1). However, the phrase “who are in Ephesus” is missing from some significant manuscripts of this letter, raising the possibility that it was more of a general circular letter for early churches, than a letter to a specific community.

This is supported by various observations. The letter does not move immediately to a thanksgiving to identify the key characteristics of the community to which the letter is sent, as Paul’s letters inevitably do. Instead, there is a lengthy blessing in which a grand theological statement is developed (1:3–14), before a brief thanksgiving is offered for the faith and love of the (unspecified) recipients (1:15–16).

These are generic qualities, and the prayer veers off almost immediately into further theological exposition (1:17–23). The end of the letter simply replicates some of the greetings of Colossians in shortened form, suggesting a later writer imitating the style of an earlier letter. The body of the letter indicates only that Paul is a prisoner (3:1; 4:1) and that the recipients are Gentiles (2:11; 3:2), while the final prayer and grace (6:23–24) is likewise entirely generic.

For all these reasons, it is unlikely that Paul himself wrote this letter.

2 Thessalonians concludes with an insistence that it was written by Paul: “I, Paul, write this greeting with my own hand” (2 Thess 3:17). At first glance, this looks similar to the reference to Paul’s “large letters” in his “own hand” at Gal 6:11; but this is a brief passing comment, whereas the claim is laboured in 2 Thessalonians by the addition of extra phrases (“this is the mark in every letter of mine; it is the way I write”). So much so, that I start to have a sense of “methinks he doth protest too much”.

The first twenty words of the opening address of 1 Thess 1:1 are repeated exactly in 2 Thess 1:1–2a; this is unusual amongst the seven authentic letters of Paul, for in every other case there are variations of both minor and major significance in this opening section. (See Rom 1:2–6; 1 Cor 1:2b; 2 Cor 1:b; Gal 1:1 and 1:4; Phil 1:1b; Phlmn 2.) So 2 Thessalonians bears many marks of being a rather unsubtle “copy” of 1 Thessalonians.

Whilst Paul’s authentic letters reflect the dynamic nature of the community of faith, the three Pastoral Letters (1 Timothy, 2 Timothy and Titus) reflect a move towards a more developed organisational structure. They point towards the institutionalised church of the second century and beyond, in which the way of Jesus would become determined by the authority of the apostle and his local representative, the bishop.

Each of these letters follows the standard formula for a letter from Paul, and they each identify only Paul as the author (1 Tim 1:1; 2 Tim 1:1; Tit 1:1). And yet, the format of the letters and the distinctive vocabulary used throws doubt on the claim that Paul was the author. Whilst they each have a traditional framework for a letter, the body of the letters often read more like a sermon or a moral treatise. Over one third of the words found in these three letters are not found in the authentic letters of Paul. Many words found frequently in the authentic letters do not appear anywhere in these three letters.

In addition, the situations addressed, the theology of the letters and the ecclesial structures envisaged reflect many differences between each of these three letters and the seven authentic letters of Paul.

Together, all of these elements point to the conclusion that the author wrote these letters after the lifetime of Paul. He reaches back in time to the figure of Paul in order to validate the teachings given to the community of faith in his own time. The figures of Timothy and Titus represent the leaders in the communities of faith in this later period.

For posts on the authorship of the Gospels, see https://johntsquires.com/2020/10/15/what-do-we-know-about-who-wrote-the-new-testament-gospels-1/ and https://johntsquires.com/2020/10/15/what-do-we-know-about-who-wrote-the-new-testament-gospels-2/

The Lectionary: ordering the liberty of the preacher

I am a longterm lectionary devotee (as preacher, as teacher, as thesis supervisor, as blog writer). There is a richness in the lectionary that I appreciate. It has a clear structure, an observable order, a logic to its pattern, a rationale to the progress that it offers us, year by year, through the seasons of the (church) year.

There are also some frustrations with the lectionary: what stories are not included, what stories appear more than once (even if in different versions), where the passage starts (omitting verses that give “context”), where the passage ends (omitting significant follow-one verses), how the passage is edited (such as parts omitted), and so on.

But this is only to be expected: it is a human creation, subject to the idiosyncrasies and prejudices of its compilers, bound in many ways to the traditions of the church, limited by the number of Sunday’s that are to be found over three years. So I take it as it is, with its own biases as well as the benefits it offers.

Alongside this structure and order, the lectionary invites choice. It stimulates in me a consideration of the options available to me, and offers ways of using it that generates creativity in whatever I do as preacher, liturgies, or instructor. Every week, there are four readings listed in the lectionary. That itself suggests some choice (at least, in my denominational context).

However, the lectionary is far more than just four readings. It is a three-year creation, following a similar pattern in each of the three years, whilst still being designed to allow for a different focus each year.

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The lectionary is is based on a repeating year-long cycle, following a well-established tradition of tracing the Christian story through a familiar pattern. It starts by looking to the coming of Jesus (the four weeks of Advent), before celebrating the birth of Jesus (the twelve days of Christmas) and rejoicing in the revelation of God (a season of varying numbers of weeks during Epiphany–sometimes simply called Ordinary Time).

It continues by walking the pathway towards the cross (another six weeks, in Lent) and then remembering the pivotal events of the last meal of Jesus (Maundy Thursday), the death of Jesus (Good Friday), a time of waiting (Holy Saturday), and the empty tomb (Easter Sunday).

This is followed by a season celebrating the appearances of the risen one and the shaping of the early church (seven weeks in the season of Easter), reaching a climactic point of with the Day of Pentecost (the gift of the Spirit).

But this is only the halfway point. After these six months of richness, the ensuing six months (with the rather unfortunate name of Ordinary Time) allow time for tracing through in order the story told in one of the Gospels; or the narratives, prophetic works, and writings found in Hebrew Scriptures; or the string of Letters found in the New Testament.

So, whilst the first half of the year is based on key moments in the story of Jesus, the second half of the year is more devoted to follow through passages from a common source in their narrative order. It is sometimes referred to as a season of growth–growing in understanding of scripture, growing in discipleship and faith.

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The lectionary that we follow is the Revised Common Lectionary. You can access it at https://lectionary.library.vanderbilt.edu/ and read responses to a whole range of frequently asked questions at https://lectionary.library.vanderbilt.edu/faq2.php

This ecumenical lectionary is based on an earlier version, The Common Lectionary, which derives from the daily and weekly lectionaries used for centuries in the Roman Catholic tradition. And behind those lectionaries, there sits the Jewish custom of reading right through the Torah, the five Books of Moses, each year, with a particular selection of chapters set for each Sabbath day.

There are other options for lectionaries–the Narrative Lectionary, Uncommon Preaching, Beyond the Lectionary–but the Revised Common Lectionary is the most widespread, used across a good range of denominations, right round the world.

Christian lectionaries can be identified as far back as the fourth century. A lection is a passage to be read; a lectionary is thus an arrangement of passages to be read (and heard). Over time, in monasteries, lectionaries developed to provide sets of readings for the monks to hear and chant, as they gathered to worship at set hours throughout each day, and then further readings for worship each Sunday, right through the year.

The Jaharis Byzantine Lectionary,
held by the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York, USA

Following a lectionary in our time is a good challenge to preachers—it invites them to step away from that clutch of familiar, beloved passages to which they would turn when considering “what shall I preach on?”, and challenges the preacher not simply to lapse back into familiar themes week after week.

It is also a fine resource for a community of faith. It clearly indicates “what is on next week”. It means that keen members can read the passages in advance of worship–perhaps even following a lectionary-based Bible reading guide like With Love to the World, for personal use or with a group. (See http://www.withlovetotheworld.org.au/).

It also means that visiting preachers can have an idea of what has just been preached on and what is coming after their visit, to avoid embarrassing “double-ups”.

It’s also fascinating to note just how often a passage that seems to be quite unrelated to the current context can “come alive” and offer striking or unforeseen insights into that situation. That’s a real gift that the lectionary offers!

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Sometimes, people talk about what is “set” in the lectionary. (I confess to have been guilty of this on occasions.) That seems to be the expectation, even the requirement, in some denominations with a highly structured (and some would say inflexible) approach to worship.

But my own denomination has roots traced to the “non-conformist” section of the church: protestants emerging from the Reformation, pietists flowing from the Wesleyan revival, a congregational emphasis growing from anti-establishment commitments of the past. Perhaps it is better for us to describe the passages available each week as being “offered” to us. They are offered; we need to consider how we accept them, how we use them, what they each offer to us.

In Year A, the focus is on the first Gospel, attributed to Matthew, alongside the ancestral narratives and account of the formation of Israel in the first five books of Hebrew Scripture. Following one or the other of these threads over a number of months can be an enriching experience for a community of faith.

In Year B, the focus is on the shortest Gospel, attributed to Mark, paralleled with passages drawn from the Writings of ancient Israel, whilst in Year C, the third Gospel, attributed to Luke, alongside a series of passages drawn from the prophetic tradition of Israel. These years each offer their own distinctives. There is enriching variety across the three years.

The fourth Gospel, attributed to John, is spread throughout these three years, at designated places throughout the year, whilst passages from the book of Acts are offered each year in the season of Easter (the weeks following after Easter Sunday). And passages from the various Letters found in the New Testament are spread across all three years.

In each of the three years, on every Sunday and special feast day, a selection from the Psalms is also offered. This ensures that over the course of three years, virtually all the Psalms are offered for Sunday worship.

The same can’t be said, unfortunately, for many other books of scripture. There are some striking omissions from the lectionary, when we look at the whole set of offerings. Many of the stories relating to women, for instance, do not appear. Some of the more difficult passages (the “texts of terror”, as they have been called) are missing. Some of the juicy parts of certain letters are missing.

Even with four readings each Sunday, 52 times each year, over three years, there still is not time for everything to be included. The only way to deal with “the whole Bible” is actually to undertake one of those “read the whole Bible in one year” programmes. That will mean reading quite a few chapters each and every day! (For instance, I found this website, that offers a range of possibilities: https://www.biblestudytools.com/bible-reading-plan/)

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How do we respond to the offering of four Bible passages each and every Sunday? There is nothing worse, in my opinion, than a sermon that stodgily treats the OT, then the Epistle, the Gospel (and sometimes even the Psalm), all with 20 minutes! This slavish, literalist use of the resources provided in the lectionary is inevitably (in the negative sense) utterly deadly. It deadens my mind and depresses my spirit.

Likewise, there is nothing inviting or encouraging in a preacher who starts, “this week the lectionary offers hopeless passages, but I have to follow it, so here goes nothing”. It offers a structure and an order, but it is not a demand and a non-negotiable requirement, surely.

There is actually an abundance of choices when I consider the lectionary: do follow the Gospel? or take a pathway though the OT readings and the enriching theological ideas they offer? Might I focus on the psalms for a season, or a month? Should I take a letter when it appears, and examine it with care over 4 or 6 or 8 weeks? Or is it best, in this age of small attention rates and high expectation of novelty, simply to change it up week by week?

Of course, there is also the option to follow the lectionary in the key seasons—Advent, Christmas, Epiphany, Lent, and Easter—then after the Pentecost celebration, in the long stretch of six months leading up to Advent, reshape worship with a local focus, or topical issues, or even a series on a theme or a book, and so on.

After 43 years I still find enrichment, challenge, and stimulation, and frustration, when I turn to the lectionary each week. And because the UCA is committed to “ordered liberty”, in worship, and in preaching, I am grateful for the order offered by the lectionary and the liberty possible in considering whether, why, and how the lectionary might shape what I end up doing.

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The Revised Common Lectionary can be accessed at https://lectionary.library.vanderbilt.edu/

See also https://uniting.church/2020-2021-lectionary-is-available-for-free-download/

There is a rich collection of resources to assist anyone using the Revised Common Lectionary, at The Text This Week, http://www.textweek.com/

A useful daily Bible reading guide, based on the RCL, is With Love to the World, at http://www.withlovetotheworld.org.au/

Invasion and colonisation, Joshua 3 and contemporary Australia

This coming Sunday, the lectionary offers us a passage from Joshua (3:7-17). It is the one and only time, in the three years of the lectionary, that we are invited to read from this book.

Joshua as history?

The story from Joshua tells, in a highly stylised way, of the entry of the people of God into the promised land. It is a key incident in the extended narrative history that stretches from Genesis to 1 Kings, recounting slavery in Egypt, the redemptive moment of Exodus, the giving of the Law, the long haul of wilderness wanderings, the battles waged to capture the land under the Judges, and the ultimate vindication of the establishment of the kingdom of Israel under King David.

Of course, it didn’t actually happen like this. For one thing, the book of Joshua is almost universally considered to be a wonderfully embellished and highly stylised narrative constructed by the priests in the sixth century BCE, as they prepared to lead exiled people of Israel in their return to the land from which they had been removed.

The book as a whole is marked by the schematic structuring that was so characteristic of priestly narratives. Structure and order was central to their style (see the various genealogies in various books of Hebrew scripture; the regular identifications of dates and locations; the repeated phrases throughout the “seven days” of Gen 1:1-2:3; the structure of the whole of the book of Numbers, as well as Joshua; and the repeated formulaic assessment of various kings in 1 Ki 11:6, 11:19, 14:22, 15:5, 15:11, 15:26, 15:34, 16:7, etc).

For another thing, we know that the division of Israel into the twelve tribes (3:12), so important in the story that the priests of Israel tell about the nation, was a later ideological construction of the priestly story-tellers—there were no neatly schematised tribes at the time of this incident.

And, of course, the whole story of Exodus, liberation, wilderness and conquest, is beset by multiple historical problems. There is no evidence in the records of the Egyptians about the escape of a large crowd of slaves, not any record of the destruction of the Egyptian Army in the Red Sea. There are no remains in the wilderness between Egypt and Israel that suggest that such a large crowd was travelling, for many years, through the desire—no remains of campsites, no graves of deceased people. And there is no archaeological evidence that correlates the biblical record of the capture of Jericho and other cities in the land. All we have is the story told in the Bible.

The form of the story we have was written down quite some centuries from when the event is alleged to have taken place. It serves an ideological purpose, as exiled people prepare to return to the land. As the 5th century exiles enter the land, the story of the wandering tribes entering the land centuries before provides encouragement and inspiration.

So it is not the historical reliability of this incident itself that is to the fore as the story is told. What we, in the post-Enlightenment era, understand to be “history”, is very different from the way that “history” was understood in the time when the story was written.

Joshua as saga

Rather than history, the narrative offers us a saga that invites us into a creative, thoughtful pondering of the story. It offers the people of Israel, exiles returning from Babylon, hope and assurance for their future. The best question we can ask of this story, is not, “did this actually happen?”, but rather, “what does this story offer to us, today?”

Central in the story is the ark of the covenant. The story tells of the time at Mount Sinai when God established a covenant with Moses and Israel, and the giving of the Law within that covenant relationship. The ark is a sign of the presence of God, continuing on with the people of Israel beyond Mount Sinai (Exod 25:10-22). God is not an absentee God, but very present amongst the people. The ark symbolises and reinforces that message.

The priests serve to mediate the presence of God. They carry the ark of the covenant, maintaining it, ensuring that it remains safe (Deut 10:8, 31:9, 25-26; Josh 3:3, 6, 8, 13). The story offers an indication that holy people are necessities in life; their mediation of the divine in the midst of the mundane is important. (As an ordained person, I confess that I have a vested interest in this claim!) As the priests shape the story, they make sure that priests play a central role in what is narrated.

Joshua as testimony to faith

The story contains a memorable description of God as “the living God” (3:10). The phrase appears elsewhere in a Hebrew Scriptures (Deut 5:26, 1 Sam 17:26, 36, 2 Kings 19:4, 16, Pss 42:2, 84:2, Isa 37:4,17, Jer 10:10, 23:36, Dan 6:20, 26, Hos 1:10) and also in the New Testament (Matt 16:16, 26:63, Acts 14:15, Rom 9:26, 2 Cor 3:3, 6:16, 1 Thess 1:9, 1 Tim 3:15, 4:10, Heb 3:13, 4:12, 9:14, 10:31, 12:22, Rev 7:2). The ark is a sign that this living God is present, active and engaged in the lives of the people.

A striking event demonstrates this: as the priests stand in the river, the waters stand still (3:16), and so the people are able to cross the river and enter the land. Of course, later on in Joshua, another miraculous event takes place, as the sun stands still (10:13). These were not actual events, but symbolic of divine intervention.

We might well compare the New Testament story of the earthquake and resurrection of the saints (found only in Matt 27) after the resurrection of Jesus. This, too, was not an historical event; it was a dramatic tale told to underline that God was active in the story.

The key aspect of the story of the escape from Egypt, as the story is found in Exodus 14-15, is the connection with the Feast of the Passover. The story that is attached to the Exodus actually serves a liturgical purpose; the priests have developed the story to reinforce and highlight the way that God was able to redeem the people—as in the story, so in the experience of the returning exiles.

Likewise, the key aspect of this story of the entry into the land, in Joshua 3, is not the actual physical wading across the river, but the assurance of faith that comes from the telling of the story of entering the land. God is not only the redeemer, who delivers the people into freedom, but the one who delivers the land to the people. The promise of the gift of land, first made to Abraham (Gen 12:1, 15:7, 17:8), then reiterated to Jacob (Gen 28:4,13, 35:12) and again to Moses (Exod 3:8,17, 6:4,8, 12:25, 13:5,11), is now coming to fulfilment.

Joshua as military victory

Indeed, the crossing of the river itself points to the symbolism that this story contributes to the overarching narrative. Leaving Egypt, the Lord God parts the waters, the people pass through, the army is bogged and drowned, and their escape from Egypt is secure. Entering Canaan, the Lord God once again stops the flow of the waters, the priests who carried the ark of the covenant enable the people to cross the river and enter the land, and their hold on the land is made secure. Josh 4:19-24 draws this comparison quite explicitly.

The parallel continues in the strong militaristic element, found in the list of the peoples whom “the living God who without fail will drive out from before you”. The text specifies “the Canaanites, Hittites, Hivites, Perizzites, Girgashites, Amorites, and Jebusites” (3:10). Even before the battles are waged, the victories have been declared. This also provides a neat bookend: the army of Egypt is crushed in Exodus 15, the inhabitants of the land are subdued and defeated in Joshua 3.

What follows on from this story of entering the land is a highly schematic presentation of the military conquest of the land, in the rest of the book of Joshua. The invaders take the key areas in turn: first the Central area (chs. 6-8), then the Southern regions (chs. 9-10) followed by the Northern areas (ch 11). Chapter 12 then provides a summary of the conquest, listing “the kings of the lands whom the Israelites defeated”—a kind of victor’s gloating, “thirty one kings in all” (Josh 3:24).

The story of taking control of the land is then followed by a parallel schematic account of the allotment of the land to each of the tribes. The Transjordan (the land to the east of the Jordan River) is allotted in ch. 13; the Central regions in chs. 14-17; and then the peripheral regions to the north and south in chs. 18-19. Chapter 20 details the allocation of the five “cities of refuge”, whilst chapter 21 identifies the forty-eight towns which were allotted to the tribe of Levi, from which the priests came.

None of these are historical accounts. The schematic ordering carries symbolic weight, rather than being an historical account. Indeed, the twelve tribes of Israel were a later construction by the compiler of the narrative, rather than being an actual organisational principle at the time of any such conquest.

And even as the list of conquered peoples are identified, the savagery of this glorious moment is revealed. The memorial stones provide a reminder of the event (Josh 4:1-10), a reminder of the power of the invading force as they colonise the settled inhabitants of the land. We hear the story from the perspective of the victorious invaders—the people of Israel. The dispossession and death of so many Canaanites is simply “collateral damage” in this process.

Joshua and Israel, Britain and Australia, and the indigenous perspective

This is a story of land, invasion, massacre, colonisation, and victory. It is an ancient story which resonates strongly with the experience of indigenous peoples in the modern era of history. Time and time again, from late medieval times onwards, “explorers” set out from Western powers, “discovered” new lands, followed by “settlers” who came and established “civilisation”, most often by means of “subduing” the indigenous peoples, making them subservient to the “new order”—and even, in many instances, punishing those who resisted their new ways, even utilising means of killing the indigenous peoples.

This is the dynamic of the story of “Israel entering the promised land” which is told in Joshua, as well as the story of “establishing British civilisation in the land of Australia” which is the story of our own continent. The imposition of a new way of living by a more powerful force, the subjugation of those who already were living in the land, and the use of violence and murder to ensure that the new order was maintained and could flourish—all of this is in the history of Australia since 1788.

The story of invasion and settlement, defeat and decline, resonates with the contemporary Australian experience of the indigenous peoples of the continent and its islands. Which gives us pause for thought: how, then, do we hear and understand that story recounted in Joshua?